It is Wednesday. A day in which I do the usual catching up on things which have fallen to the wayside during a busy week (another one, which is always the case). Since my son has gone into the military 7 months ago, I find myself filling my life with meaningful work (to me, at least). The money is welcomed but is not the reason I sometimes work at a frenzied pace. My dear friend recently told me that one must have a purpose. Now that my son has launched, this single parent rediscovered her (at least one) purpose. I work part time with an EAP in which my primary focus is on veterans and part time as a geriatric social worker whose role it is to connect low income seniors with resources in their community. The work keeps me busy and refocuses my attention away from myself and my concerns about my son serving in the military in this sometimes absurdly chaotic world. Lastly (and not in an order), it keeps my mind off my mother who has vascular dementia.
This writing is intended to focus upon her (and admittedly
my interaction with her today). I stopped by the facility in which she has
lived for nearly 2 years. She has been moved to assisted living to memory care
due to her declining memory. Before
entering the building, I found the access code which I needed to enter the
unit. As I did so (always carefully,
quietly) I discovered my mother in a group of ten women reminiscing. I felt
intuitively that I needed to stay back. I
wanted to listen to these women talk about what was their lives (and I hoped,
what is their lives). After a bit of time, my mother turned her head and saw me
sitting on a sofa in the corner. She
smiled and asked me what I was doing there. Mom remembered my name and asked me
how I was. I asked her how she was and
how she felt today. She replied, “I’ve
been here one hundred and two minutes. I think it will be okay.” I’ll take that one hundred and two minutes
from Mom. And I do think (in her own
way) she will be okay.
